


Vodka-Suns

by niiiiix



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: After Dark, Because They Kiss, Bisexual Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak is a Mess, Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, God Spites Richie Tozier, I've Never Had Alcohol Before, M/M, Oblivious Eddie Kaspbrak, POV Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier Flirts, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier is a Mess, Right?, SO, Underage Drinking, and eddie has No Balance, and has never had alcohol, and hes teaching eddie to skate, and then after eddie can turn by himself, because i cannot bring myself to NOT write kissing, but - Freeform, but richie isn’t fanon emo eboy because yuck, hes like “ive got a prize for u eds”, i mean he doesn’t even smoke a cigarette in this scene, i tried not to specify on how the alcohol "felt" because, its fine, like a lame-o, ok so, probably because he’s gay, right - Freeform, so it’s good, tell me im wrong, that makes it all good, the author is also underage, they kiss at the end, they’re at a skate park, you know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:15:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24058108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/niiiiix/pseuds/niiiiix
Summary: at! the skate park! at night! richie is NOT emo and eddie is NOT soft and! they! have! a! good! time!edited because i realized google docs didn't carry over the italics for some reason
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 3
Kudos: 26





	Vodka-Suns

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FoxiePride](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoxiePride/gifts).



Richie has a skateboard in his garage. He uses it, from time to time, although it’s usually just when he forgets his bike at the quarry, or at one of the loser’s houses and has to go get it. He much prefers his bike, however. He feels a bit like a poser. He doesn’t wear the cool, ripped clothes other skaters do, and he could hardly pull off a kickflip without falling on his ass. 

He could navigate the speed and balance well enough to teach it, though, even if the student was reluctant.

“I don’t know, Richie, this seems like an awful idea. I’m not even going to get started on all the potential injuries we could get, because I’m sure that you’ve received them all already on your own. Do you wear a helmet? Do you even own one?” Eddie complains, bringing up a fair point as he leans against the door frame of his front door, which Richie chose to knock on at the ripe, late, late, time of ten p.m.

Richie scoffs as he pulls a hand through his hair, his head almost five inches taller than Eddie’s, even with the disadvantage of the porch steps. “Oh, Eddie, Eddie. There’s no need to get hung up on details! All you need to know is that you’re coming with me to the skate park-”

“After it’s legally closed?”

“Yes, obviously, it’s past nine, Eds, keep up.” Eddie rolls his eyes as Richie continues. “Anyway, you’re coming with me, and you’re gonna suck so much and I’m going to be fantastic and we’ll have a great time.” Richie beams under the yellow, burnt out streetlight. Eddie bites on his top lip like he always does whenever he has to pretend he doesn’t want to go along with whatever shenanigans Richie plans.

“Fine. But I’m bringing the damn fanny pack, I refuse to let you get scraped up and infected just because I don’t have the supplies.” He decides, crossing his arms and tilting his jaw up as though this were a stalemate, or a dealbreaker on Richie’s end. 

But his grin only increases tenfold. “Aw, my little Eddie Spaghetti cares about me!” He exclaims, reaching out to pinch Eddie’s cheek. His hand is greeted with the just-closed front of Eddie’s door instead.

______

“Alright, so, you’re going to put your foot there,” Richie says, containing a laugh at Eddie’s complete inability. He’s tried three times already, each time the board has slipped out from underneath him. It’s a miracle he hasn’t fallen, really. “I’m telling you, you just have to do it.” 

Eddie furrows his brow, and Richie can tell his eyes are narrowed, even under the harsh shadows that mask half of his face. “And what the hell does that mean? How do you just _do_ something?” He asks, his tone sharp and snappy. If anybody else had heard, they would have seen it as an attack, an instigation. But Richie merely grinned, holding his tongue between his teeth. It might have been an instigation, sure, but he would take it as a challenge. 

“Just hop on it!” Eddie’s mouth opens in objection before Richie continues. “That’s what I said to your mom last night! No, but seriously, it’s easier if you just jump on it, all at once. If you go too slow, your balance goes all out of whack.” His tone sobering soon after the joke.

Eddie pinches his lips together. “I can’t! I’ll fall. I’ve got awful balance.”

“Here.” Richie says, holding out his hand. He pushes his glasses up his nose with his other hand, shoving it between his elbow and his ribcage.

Eddie says nothing, looking back from his hand to his eyes. Over and over, until, “Fine.” 

“What?” He says, sounding more shocked than he thought he would have. He offered his hand to Eddie, he shouldn’t be shocked if he takes it. It’s just for balance, really. It’s not like he offered anything actually important to him. Just his hand and his palms and his balance and his trust-

“Fine. Give me your hand, dickwad, I want to learn how to do this.” He sputters, waving out his hand and stepping over the skateboard until Richie grabs his hand, and Eddie squeezes it way too tight. 

That’s how Richie had imagined touching Eddie- out of impulses and electrocution. He held his hand, and although the end goal was Eddie’s safety, it was only ensuring Richie’s destruction. His palm wasn’t soft, it was rough and dry, bandaids and hand sanitizer. He didn’t feel _‘tingles and tickles’_ like he’d read in some stupid novel, he felt bee stings and papercuts. And he couldn’t get enough of it.

It was Eddie, there, in his hand, and there, on his board, and Richie doesn’t think he’s going to let go until he’s fully confident in his ability to ride. Which, based off of how long it took him to ride a bike, would take a while. It didn’t matter- midnight at a skatepark felt like all the time in the world.

_____

Richie’s laugh was loud, raucous, even. Eddie decides its echo has to carry on past the park. Past the fencing, through the streets and into homes, spreading his infectious laughter, carrying his happiness through to people he’d never even know. He refused to believe the universe could have just given such a gift to somebody and let him keep it all for himself. It _had_ to float through the air, run through the rivers, fly through the clouds so that everybody felt it. Maybe Richie’s laugh was the only thing keeping Derry from total destruction.

And then Eddie looks at himself, watching Richie’s bouncing jaw, and realizes that the whole idea is just a bit preposterous. _Richie could manage it anyway,_ He thinks, watching Richie fly by after a mishap. _Richie could do anything_.

Except, maybe, teach Eddie how to _freaking_ turn. He’d gotten a handle on going straight forward, he didn’t even need Richie’s shoulder for that anymore. And he’s found that running starts, somehow, came easier to him than standard ones. But he always had to beckon Richie over if he wanted to try turning.

And he would be lying if he said that he wasn’t just a bit distracted with the way Richie’s hand clamped on Eddie’s waist, like he’d whisk him off at the first sight of danger. He attention was only minorly pulled away from the moving vehicle he was on when Richie pulled him in for turns, furrowing his brow and pulling in his bottom lip as if he’d never turned before, as if the danger was too great for his full attention to be anywhere else.

Eddie loved that- that Richie was so damn worried about his safety because he knew about his anxieties, even if he played it off later as wanting to save his board, rather than the _‘wet muskrat’_ riding it. It was almost intoxicating, and Eddie could have been drunk off that alone if Richie hadn’t already taken care of it.

“Dun da da dun!” Richie says, poorly mimicking a trumpet after a couple hours, and after Eddie completes a turn in both directions all on his own.

Eddie rolls his eyes and picks up the board. “What are you doing, you dumbass?”

Richie grins a grin that must raise Derry’s sun, that makes the birds sing and the crickets chirp. “I have a reward for you! For doing so great on the skateboard, and greatly surpassing my expectations for you with your quick wits,” He says, tossing a wink in his direction. 

Eddie is grateful that the lights wash him out, because he can feel his ears go warm, and he knows that in any other lighting, they’d be very pink. He watches Richie fish something out of his pocket. He holds it up triumphantly in the dark sky, the yellow street light reflecting off of it and shooting a glare into his eyes. “What is that?” He asks the metal… pouch.

“My very own invention! I call it the vodka-sun! I took one of those medicine injection thingys, put vodka in it, and injected it into the capri-sun!” He smiles like it’s an achievement.

“Christ, ‘Chee.” He scoffs like it’s a chore. “Is that what you think those are for?”

He waves it toward Eddie, taking a step forward and ignoring his comment. “You want to try?”

Eddie bites his top lip again. 

“There better still be straws.”

“Of course there are straws, Eds, I’m not a monster.”

_____

“How many of these did you make?” Eddie asks, fighting a hiccup. He’s just finished his third ‘vodka-sun’, which was surprisingly not terrible. It was the apple flavor, and that was his favorite. (He wonders if Richie knew that…) 

The skateboard was upturned, a few feet away, and Eddie was stripped of all of his protective gear, knee pads, elbow pads and helmet neatly stacked to the side. He was sitting on the ground a few feet from Richie, twisted in a strangely inaccurate criss-cross-applesauce, while Richie sat above him on a railing, his feet dangling to either side of Eddie.

Richie counts, putting up and pulling down fingers in what appears to be no particular pattern. “Three-two. Wait, no, six. So this is the last one.” He says, waving his half-empty pouch in the air.

“Ah, guess I’m cut off. All done for tonight.” Eddie says, gathering his trash.

“You can have mine.” Richie offers, louder than the rest of the town. The city’s still, it’s almost two in the morning. He’s awoken the birds, he’s the reason the frogs are running their mouths so early.

Eddie’s still, too. “Yeah?”

Richie nods, his glasses shaking wildly. “Yes. Yes, yes, yes, of course you can always.” He doesn’t hold out the pouch, though. It’s there, in his hand, in his lap. On the rail, and out of Eddie’s reach. 

So Eddie stands up. “Yeah. Thanks, Rich.” He reaches for the vodka-sun in his lap and takes it.

And leaves his hand there.

And looks Richie in the eyes. In his eyes, the ones that bring Derry to life, the ones that bring any sort of hope to this dull town. The whites of his eyes that were always wide, displaying his every emotion to an audience. The irises are so complex, they aren’t just one color. They’re gold, and green, blue and silver. Every color mixed together, because everything was complex with Richie goddamn Tozier. Even the way his pupils dilated, then looked from Eddie’s eyes, to his lips, to his eyes, to his lips, and his cheek, and the rising colors in them.

He leaves his hand on his lap, the other grabbing at the nape of his neck and pulling him close. Richie’s breath is hot on his mouth, sour with alcohol but fruity with the stupid kids drink. Complex and livening. His nose is too big next to Eddie’s, poking into his cheekbone. His coke-bottle frames, the dumb fucking glasses, magnify everything in his eyes tenfold. The excitement and the confusion, the familiarity and the need.

The impulse. The electricity.

“Eds-”

And Eddie’s kissing him. With power, with force. With care and respect for the boy that brings everything to life. With one hand around his neck and one on his jaw, pulling him closer. Alcohol on his tongue and buzzing through his head, maintaining a constant stream of Richie, Richie, Richie in his mind. 

“Eds.” Richie says, his voice so steady, as though he’d never been more sure of anything before. When they broke, his lips were slick with spit and seething with warmth, sending shivers down Eddie’s neck. _No,_ he thought drunkenly, _That’s the exact wrong temperature._

He smiles into Richie’s jaw, leaning on him despite both of them knowing how flimsy his seating was. “So long, Richie.”

“Hm?”

“So long.” He repeats, deeming clarification unnecessary. Richie’s hands wrap around his back and they stay there until the city hums to life, livened by the pair. 

At least, that’s what Eddie likes to think.


End file.
